Odd Jobs: Day at flower shop triggers fragrant memories

What’s your favorite flower? Mine is the lilac. During my childhood, each year after spring cleaning my mother and I filled the house with lilac bouquets. It was joyous.

Ruth LaHue, owner of My Secret Garden, understands. She started her floral business 18 years ago, knowing she was doing more than just selling flowers — she was delivering a feeling. The shop, at 16 N. 9th St., was named after Ruth’s favorite book: The Secret Garden. She chose to substitute the word “My” for “The” in the title to make it more personal.

It’s a visually relaxing place to enter. Two of Ruth’s daughters, Jessica, the design manager, and Stephanie, the merchandise manager, help run the shop. It’s a true family business.

My Secret Garden also employs 12 to 15 part-time workers who fill a range of jobs, from sales associates and delivery drivers to floral assistants and designers. This number spikes around holidays such as Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day.

My day starts at 8 a.m. Jessica and I begin by delivering a casket spray to Memorial Funeral Home. It hasn’t occurred to me before that flower delivery can sometimes be a somber occasion. Jessica explains that each funeral home has a protocol for delivery; some want the flowers left in a designated area, and others request that florists place the flowers on the casket. Entering through a door marked for deliveries, we place the beautiful fall-hued spray on the casket and leave.

Jessica, who has more than 20 years of experience working with her mother, holds a degree in biological anthropology. She asks me to assist her with an easel spray for the same funeral. I soak the oasis cage, which keeps the flowers from wilting.

In the cooler, the flowers are arranged across a spectrum. I step gingerly inside, so as not to damage any. The front of the cooler has a glass wall through which customers can view 40 to 80 varieties for purchase at a given time. Jessica’s knowledge of flora is massive, and she quickly pulls the flowers she needs.

James, the delivery driver, whisks the arrangement away as soon as it’s finished. We don’t even have time to admire the finished display. Florists must have an appreciation for the transient value of life, because their art is gone quickly.

Everything that is cut or cleaned is dropped directly onto the floor, which gets swept at the end of the evening. It’s a little disconcerting. I keep looking down to see what I have stepped on. I’m working on 30 tabletop arrangements for The Forge & Vine on South 7th Street. I fill vases with a special water solution, marbles and greenery.

Stephanie, an adjunct professor at Stephens College — where she teaches fashion design — arrives to help. “What people want in flowers often follows fashion trends,” she says.

I follow Jessica inside a floral truck parked out front. It’s freezing. I shiver, wishing I had brought a sweater for all the climate changes. The variety of flowers available is mind-boggling. Jessica admits that sometimes those running My Secret Garden just pull what catches their interest from the flower supplier’s truck.

“We hope we can sell it later,” Ruth says, “but it’s not hard to sell something you love.”

Lisa arrives a little before 2 p.m. Studying to be an art teacher, she likes the idea of working somewhere that allows her a creative outlet. After two to three months of working at My Secret Garden, she has graduated to medium-size arrangements. She has previous flower arranging experience.
As I trim the Kangaroo Paw, a plant that I’m warned can sometimes cause skin irritation, Lisa tells me about a plant she recently used in a wedding, which gave her an awful reaction. The plant, Snow on the Mountain, caused her to break out in a blistery rash. I wash my hands thoroughly when I’ve finished with the Kangaroo Paw.

I go with James to deliver the tabletop arrangements. We pick up the old, disperse the new, get a signature, and go on our way. He admits that it’s not always smooth sailing. Sometimes an address is wrong, and sometimes a recipient doesn’t want the arrangement. He recounts being yelled at and having flowers thrown back at him.

“That’s when we give them the option of donating them to Ellis Fischel (Cancer Center),” James said.

When we return, I notice the box of Snow on the Mountain is now stored in the alley.

We log our run in the computer. Each order is carefully tracked through the creative process to its final destination.

As I remove the thorns from roses with a straight knife, Jessica reminds me to cut away from my body. Stems that have been soaking in water are slick.
I finish the day by creating a bud vase. Jessica explains about center point, line and grouping. To finish, she shows me how to loop leaves so that they form a natural bow.

I now know it takes many years to develop the kind of visual acuity to create a feeling with arranged flowers. I take an arrangement home. They may not last forever, but the feeling of fresh flowers sometimes can’t even be put into words. It’s joyous.